Christmas Wrapping
by WikketKrikket
Summary: Martin Crief has never had much luck with women, but after the year he's had, he almost thinks 'no chance' would have been better than a string of 'almosts'. After a busy year navigating a series of relationship disasters and non-events, Martin is determined to let nothing come between him and a nice, quiet Christmas at home. Inspired by the song by the Waitresses.
1. Tea Shop Encounter

**A/N: Well, after writing for Sherlock, I guess it was only a matter of time until a CP fic appeared; although to tell you the truth, I'm a bit of a radio comedy nut and I had listened to it before I even saw Sherlock… I just didn't think much of it until some friends and my sister persuaded me to give it another try, and then I fell in love, haha. Then when I heard the song 'Christmas Wrapping' by the Waitresses, I felt it could be the perfect summary of poor old Martin's love life. XD And so a bit of Christmas fluff for you all! Each chapter will be a scene with Martin pondering and a flashback, and I have a few written; but I'm not sure how frequent updates will be. I'm hoping to get it done before Christmas, anyway! So, without further ado…**

Chapter One- Tea Shop Encounter

It had not been a good year for Martin Crief. Then again, saying that, it hadn't been any worse than the previous few and significantly better than some he could mention; so perhaps it wasn't as bad as he was sometimes tempted to say. After all, he was a captain, living his dream; just without the pay or respect or the money or nice house and food. But, he thought, it could be worse. It could definitely be worse. For one thing, he wasn't at work this Christmas. Secondly, he wasn't at some dreadful family gathering either. Caitlin had invited him of course, but he hated the long drive and the traffic and the ice on the roads, and then the expectation that one had to be energetic and jolly when all you really wanted to do was nap. This year he had surprised himself by being quite assertive and just saying no, he would be perfectly fine on his own. Martin couldn't remember the last time he had just spent a day at home, doing nothing, without a job with either his van or MJN; and all the students had gone home for the holidays, meaning that, just this once, he was going to have a nice, quiet Christmas and spend all day doing nothing- and thoroughly enjoying it.

Even so, this year there had been Caroline; and the string of disasters that had, naturally, accompanied Martin at every encounter with this amazing woman. It had been almost a year now since he had first met her, he supposed, and wondered where the time had gone. Still, he supposed, a year was time enough; it was time to give up and move on. No, it hadn't been a bad year, he just might have wished for a different ending.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

_3__rd__ January, Paris_

Martin was in the Louvre. More specifically, he was in the tea shop at the Louvre, largely because he had little interest in art. No, interest was the wrong word; had he been on his own, he would have been quite content to spend a little time wandering around between the paintings. The problem was, he didn't have the knowledge and, as usual, Douglas did. In fact, he had probably only suggested this trip during their stop over so he could show off his public school education while exposing Martin's lack thereof. After half an hour of being humiliated over not knowing his Monet from his Van Gough- something Martin held was of no practical use in daily life- he had slunk off and gone to nurse his bruised ego with a coffee, telling the others to join him later.

He had noticed the young woman in front of him, of course. He couldn't fail to notice her, as she was rather cute; wrapped up in an aviator style duffle coat lined with fleece and a heavy striped scarf, her blond hair caught in places in the coils, as if she had thrown it on without much care. Martin wanted to talk to her, but quickly dismissed it as a very bad idea. He couldn't talk to women, especially not attractive ones, especially not in French. He would settle for simply not making a fool of himself, and concentrated on not tripping over his own feet as they shuffled up the queue. She stepped up to the counter.

"_Bonjour_." She said, her voice very light, without the deep notes that were peculiar to the French accent. "_Je voudrais un café au lait et un morceau de gateau, s'il vous plait."_

"_Qui est onze euros au total."_

The woman looked puzzled and looked in her hand, as if the ten euro note in her hand would suddenly increase. "What, really?" She said, almost to herself. "That much? But I only have ten…"

_English_. Martin realised, his stomach lurching slightly. She was English, and in trouble, and he had fifteen euros in his wallet. He could step in here, and be gallant, and have an excuse to speak to her, and maybe, just maybe- the woman was fumbling in French now, trying to change her order. Now or never. Even though his mouth had gone completely dry, Martin stepped forward, trying to ignore the panicked thoughts that she might think him nosy or weird, and said:

"Here, let me get that for you." And the woman looked at him in surprise, smiled, and accepted the five euro note he was offering to her. Martin took the change and with it bought his own _café au lait_, following the woman over to a table. She was rather flustered about the incident.

"I'm so sorry!" She cried, agonised. "Thank you so much, I didn't realise it was going to be so expensive! And then she looked so scary when I didn't have the money and I forgot how to speak French so I couldn't amend the order and-"

"Oh no." Martin said, hurriedly. "No, no, don't worry, that's fine, absolutely fine." He couldn't help but think this was all going rather well. It turned out that seeing how flustered she was stopped him from being flustered himself; and here he was, about to have coffee with a beautiful woman, in the romance capital of the world and- as a quick glance around confirmed- Douglas was nowhere to be seen. This year was off to a rather good start. "I'm Martin!" He blurted.

"Caroline." She said. "Nice to meet you, Martin."

"S-so you're English, Caroline?"

"That's right."

"A-and, you live in England?"

"Yes?" She was looking at him now, slightly confused. Martin immediately back pedalled.

"I, I just mean sometimes people live out here, in France, or, or in other places, even though they're English and used to live in England."

"Well, I live in England." She chuckled.

"Whereabouts in England?" Martin asked, then realised this might sound stalkerish rather than the intended friendliness, so quickly amended: "Roughly! I mean, just… whereabouts. I don't need to know where you live or- oh, no, that sounds worse."

"No, it's fine." Caroline was trying not to laugh, he could tell by the way she was hiding her lips behind her coffee cup, sipping at it. "I live in a place called Fitton. You probably won't have heard of it, it's in the Midlands, sort of near Coventry…"

Martin thought his heart had stopped and for a moment, he couldn't speak. His thoughts seemed to be similarly stalled, stuck in a loop: _She lives in Fitton. Nobody lives in Fitton. But she does. She lives in Fitton. But nobody lives in Fitton… _

"…Martin?"

"W-what did you say it was called again?"

"Hmm? Fitton. Near-ish Coventry."

Martin tried to swallow his excitement. Now he had to go for it. Something like this, he could almost believe to be a sign; a sign that perhaps, finally, his luck was changing. Somehow the thought gave him confidence, and he could converse almost normally, about what a coincidence it was, and what a small world it was, and how it didn't matter what country you were in, museum tea shops always charged an outrageous amount, and they laughed. Martin asked what brought her to Paris and she said she was here with her mother on a weekend break, but had managed to slip away. She had done a degree in Art History and had always wanted to visit the Louvre; Martin pretended to know something about art and she caught him out in less than a minute, and they laughed. She asked if he travelled a lot, and he told her he was a pilot, a captain. She was suitably impressed, and, to Martin's delight, had an uncle who was a pilot and so knew one or two of the technical details; just enough to ask him questions. Martin didn't think it could be going any better, especially as she got a bit giggly when he used flight terms, and if he didn't know any better, he would have thought she found it attractive.

And then, naturally, it turned out the uncle in question was Douglas; and this Caroline was in fact Caroline _Richardson_, and it was hard to say whether Douglas was more surprised to bump into her in Paris or to find her having coffee with Martin. At any rate, he didn't look terribly pleased, and the whole thing seemed to come crashing down around Martin's ears. After all, Caroline was beautiful, educated, cultured, rich and related to Douglas; in short, off limits to an unpaid pilot whose only income was moving other people's stuff in his dad's van. His confidence ebbed away, and as Caroline and Douglas caught up, Martin got quieter and quieter, sure he was blushing in shame and anticipation of what Douglas was going to say to him when they were back on the plane.

But then, a miracle occurred. He and Douglas were standing to leave, putting their coats back on, intending to go and find Arthur and head back to the hotel, when suddenly Caroline spoke to Martin again.

"Martin!" She blurted. "Um… I…" She was going red, Martin noticed, and avoiding looking at her uncle. "Can I take your number? J-just so I can sort out paying you back…"

"Oh! No, no, you don't need to pay me back, it's really fine…"

"Oh… okay. That's fine. Thank you."

"Um, Martin." Douglas coughed, and Martin suddenly realised what he had done.

"Ah! No! Um, I mean… well, you don't have to pay me back but… but you could have my number. If you like. I mean, it would be great to talk to you again. Oh! Not that I'm saying you want to talk to me-"

"_Martin_." Douglas said, impatient now. Martin, knowing he was blushing furiously again, wrote his number on the back of the receipt for his coffee, and Caroline took it and folded it carefully into her purse. Carefully. As if she didn't want to lose it.

It was fair to say that, in the end, Martin left the Louvre in a far better mood than he had entered it in.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooo

**A/N: So, it transpires I've been hearing the lyrics wrong all this time and it's actually 'ski shop' not 'tea shop', but I thought this worked better for the story and kept it. Still… oops. XD Also, yes, Caroline has a deliberately similar name to Carolyn; it'll come up later ;) Hope you enjoyed!**


	2. Springtime

Chapter Two- Springtime

Of course, his elation hadn't lasted long. Martin had left the Louvre too excited to notice how pensive Douglas was looking, but finally, half way through the flight home, Douglas confided that his niece had broken off an engagement back at the end of November; that the trip to Paris had been, in theory, to cheer her up. Martin's elation had deflated rapidly as he realised what Douglas was saying, that he was probably something of a rebound. Even so, he couldn't help waiting for her to call. She didn't, not then. Their first meeting had been almost a year ago now. Martin didn't know where the time had gone; sometimes he felt like he lived in a perpetual winter.

He hated winter. It made everything so much harder. The worst thing was when he turned down or rearranged jobs so he could fly GERTI, only to have the take off delayed because of the weather and having to move everything around again. Then again, lugging furniture wasn't much fun in the winter, either. More than once he had slipped on ice under a heavy load, and his old van didn't do much better. The poor thing could barely climb hills when the roads were in perfect condition, when it was slippery the wheels span but produced about as much overall movement as a CD does in a player. Plus, there was the simple, childish fact that he didn't like the cold and the wet. His calendar had a winter landscape on it, that was about all the winter he wanted; but the heating was expensive and all in all he didn't think he had been warm since the 1990s. Still, this year, he was going to use Christmas as a chance to catch his breath, to relax, have some time to himself. It was much needed. That evening he sat down in the lounge of the house- for once not full of students- and indulged in a little brainless viewing. They were showing some old Christmas film, which, naturally, was full of heart-warming romance. There had been times in the past when such things had made him feel a pang of loneliness, but tonight it just made him think back, to the second time he had spoken to Caroline, when he had almost, _almost _got a date for Valentine's Day.

Oooooooooooooooooooooo

_12__th__ February, A402 _

Luckily, Martin was pulled over in the lay by when Caroline finally called him back. He was en route to deliver a grandfather clock and a few other personal effects to the lucky inheritor in somewhere called Chipping Sodbury. He had pulled over to consult his A to Z and, as usual, to mentally upbraid himself for not investing in a Sat Nav. He was a man with a van, for goodness' sake, a delivery service. In this day and age it was ridiculous not to have a Sat Nav. Even so, he was a good navigator and at least winter had left early this year. Already, it was getting warm and the leaves had reappeared on the trees. Spring was almost upon them. It was just as Martin was moving on to upbraiding himself for letting his mind wander that his phone rang.

He hadn't altogether given up on the idea that Caroline might call him, but it wasn't uppermost in his thoughts as he picked up the unknown number; after all, clients called him on this phone all the time. As such, he was able to answer with his best calm and professional voice:

"Hello, Martin Crief speaking."

"Oh, hello Martin! This is Caroline. Well, you probably don't remember me. Caroline Richardson, we met in the Louvre?"

"No, no, I remember! Goodness, Caroline, hi! Hello! H-how are you?"

"I'm okay, I'm sorry it's taken me so long to call, you know how it is…"

Martin did know how it was; how busy life could be, and what it was like trying to get over a major relationship. Of course he didn't say so, he just gave the usual socially acceptable response and waited, his heart pounding, for the small talk to be over and for her to reveal why she had finally called.

"Well, anyway, Martin, I… I feel bad that I still haven't paid you back, so I was wondering if, if maybe you'd like to go for a coffee again. Or lunch! Lunch would be really good."

"Yes! Yes, yes, lunch would be good. Really good. Great! Lunch would be great!"

"Oh? Really? Great!"

Suddenly, they both became painfully aware of their breathless excitement and laughed, awkwardly.

"So, um, are you free this week?"

"Free? This week?" Martin had to bite his tongue to stop himself from blurting 'yes'. The thing is, he wasn't. He wasn't free. He had to finish this job and then the rest of the week he was supposed to be with the rest of MJN air taking some rich yuppies from Oxford on an aerial tour of the United States for a 21st birthday party. As Douglas put it, they were going to be flying coach drivers. He couldn't get out of it. Carolyn would kill him. "Um… next week would be better…"

"Really?" Caroline sounded rather disappointed. Martin's heart thumped with something like delight. He scolded himself for not knowing better, but to have someone be disappointed not to see him… He pinched himself, just to check, and winced. "Martin? Are you alright?"

"Fine! Fine, I'm fine! I just, we're- MJN, that is- Well, you probably know from Douglas, but tomorrow we have a six day tour of the United States."

"Oh… so you're back on Wednesday?"

"Thursday."

"I'm going away on Thursday myself for a long weekend." She didn't sound very pleased at the prospect. "Hen Party."

"Oh, lovely!" Martin tried to be enthusiastic in her place. "Well, maybe we could do the week after!"

They fixed a date for the week after next, and as soon as he'd hung up the phone, Martin whooped, drumming his hands on his ancient steering wheel. It seemed his luck was finally turning. His good mood persisted all through that day, and even through the trip; even ferrying around a group of rowdy students didn't dampen his spirits, even Douglas' constant remarks on his good mood couldn't dent it. Martin didn't tell any of them about his date, however. He kept it to himself, a nice little warm glow in his chest, that he could smugly bathe in the light of. He splurged slightly in Los Angeles, buying a new shirt and some cuff links, even though he knew he should be saving for the meal itself. He would manage somehow, even if he had to call Caitlin and get a little loan.

Unfortunately, Martin had forgotten one crucial thing: he was Martin Crief, possessor of the world's worst luck. When they finally returned to Fitton, Carolyn had entirely booked them to move a large insurance company's paper records of the last seventy-five years over to their new storage space in Dublin, regardless of the fact that due to the weight and volume of files involved, it would take them at least twenty trips over three days, with Martin's date day right in the middle. Martin protested, of course, as did Douglas; but when had Carolyn ever listened to him? Besides, he knew better than to suggest that the reason he wanted the time off so badly was because he was supposed to be going on his first proper date in months, _years_, especially when it was with Douglas' niece.

So, naturally, he was forced to phone Caroline and explain what had happened, and she was very good about it; only the following week was no good as she was helping with an exhibition, which Martin went to look at, but couldn't find her; and the week after was full-booked with jobs with Icarus Removals, and the week after with MJN again. By that time it was almost the end of March, and in spite of hurried text messages and occasional calls, they still hadn't managed to actually meet in person. She would be, Martin knew, close to giving up; who would want a relationship with someone who wouldn't have time for them? And so, Martin made one last attempt, and they fixed a definite date, and Martin turned jobs down for Icarus Removals, and finally came clean at work, colouring the square out in red ink on the MJN wall chart and when Carolyn tried to write on it anyway took some scissors and physically removed it altogether. Carolyn had been surprised at that, and Douglas had raised an eyebrow, merely commenting that he must be particularly desperate for a date. Martin ignored him, and his comments about how red he was going. Douglas just didn't understand how hard, how _impossible _it was to get a date if you were him; if he did, he wouldn't have blamed Martin at all.

Of course, it was impossible that things should work out in spite of his best efforts, because a few days before the date, Douglas' father, Caroline's grandfather, suddenly passed away at the grand old age of eighty-seven. They were in Prague when Caroline herself called Douglas to tell him the news; Martin wasn't sure, but it sounded like there was something of a schism in Douglas' family, between Douglas himself and his brother, and perhaps if not for Caroline, Douglas wouldn't have been told at all. Douglas took it quite stoically, just more quiet than usual and retiring early, but shrugging off his colleagues' concerns by saying he hadn't been close to his father for years. When Martin called Caroline that night, she was far more upset; and, naturally, so caught up in funeral preparations, they lost touch a bit over the next few days. The funeral was on their date-day, and in spite of everything, she was too upset to come out afterwards. Martin understood, of course, but sometimes couldn't help quietly cursing the old man to himself. Douglas seemed to read his mind, one day commenting "I'm sure dear old dad didn't do it on purpose to ruin your date, Martin; but he would have done if he could. He adored Caroline and would have detested you." This did not make Martin feel any better.

After that, they were back to the same problem of being unable to find a date they could both do; one thing after another got in the way, life got busy, and calls and texts began to be fewer and further between. Finally, by the end of April, they were barely in touch at all; and Martin began to forget the fever-dream of the start of the year when he had _almost _got a girlfriend in time for Valentine's Day.


	3. Boat

A/N: In which Martin gets a phone call and a fed-up Douglas starts to play matchmaker. XD

Chapter Three- Boat

He woke to his phone ringing, and Martin realised he had been asleep on the settee. He wasn't sure what the time was, but he couldn't have been asleep for that long as the credits of the Christmas film were playing, and the shadows cast by the fairy lights he had helped the students hang over the book case had barely changed. He sat up, rubbing a hand blearily over his face and turned on the lamp, feeling in his pocket for his phone, which of course, wasn't there. Martin panicked. He couldn't help it. He was prone to panic at the best of times, but when he had just been startled awake, and his phone was effectively his livelihood, his only contact with his family, his friends, his colleagues, he was bound to go into anxiety mode.

_If it stops ringing_, Martin thought, _I'll never find it. _

He sprung off the settee, reminding himself he had finally honed pilot senses and should be able to follow the sound, but it sounded like it was coming from under the sofa, and it wasn't there. He threw the sofa cushions off, noticing a hole in the lining that his phone could well have worked its way down, and probably had; but one of the cushions that he had discarded rather violently had hit the Christmas tree that had been up since November (so the students could enjoy it before going home) and it toppled. Martin cursed. He had _known _he should never have let _students _put up a tree unsupervised, of course they hadn't screwed the base properly, and the whole thing fell down with a crash, knocking down some of the lights and several books. His phone stopped ringing just as Martin got over his shock and felt into the base of the settee for it. He made a mental note to patch it, or tell Mr Silvestri it was damaged and see if he could get a decent one out of him. Probably not. The call had been from an unknown number, probably a client. Martin was almost glad to have missed it. However much he had needed the cash, it was Christmas, and he had no intention of doing any more jobs until at least the 27th. He was doing a Christmas right this time, a nice quiet Christmas, relaxing on his own, getting some rest- the fact he had fallen asleep on the settee proved he needed it. He was going to have a nice, restful Christmas.

But first, he had to reconstruct the living room.

Ooooooooooooooooo

_9__th__ August, Brittany_

Martin did not like beaches. He liked the ocean, and he liked the sun, but he did not like sand. It was uncomfortable and got everywhere, stuck in the linings of his shoes or in between his toes until his feet were rubbed raw, got stuck forever in the spines of books and took days to wash out of his hair, no matter how hard he tried. He especially did not like to be on the beach with Arthur, who would usually insist on a sandcastle building competition. Martin, for his part, was rather good at making sandcastles and was sure he could have beaten Douglas, if Douglas had ever deigned to compete. The fact he always refused made Martin feel rather ashamed of his own participation and his ability, and he hated the sand under his nails afterwards. Then there was the problem of being a red head with pale skin, and not being able to be out in the sun for more than thirty seconds without burning. Martin found the constant application of sun cream, and Douglas' teasing about it, rather tedious. No, he did not like going to the beach during their stop overs. Today, however, Douglas had been most insistent. He had barely let them check into the hotel and put their bags down before he was hurrying them out again down to the coast.

"What's got into you today?" Martin asked, waiting with Douglas outside a small shop Arthur had entered to buy a bucket and spade. Already he could feel the sun beating down on him and it was wearing his temper; once they got to the beach, he was going to go straight in to swim to cool off and go back to the hotel as soon as possible. It was one of the rare times that they had more than a few hours in France, as the client wanted them to hang around on to fly them back at some point the next day. As he had promised them a generous two hours of notice, however, they were free to spend the intervening time as they wished. This was not how Martin would have wished to spend it.

"Nothing, nothing at all." Douglas said, airily. "It's just, as so often happens, Captain, I know something you don't. Ah, Arthur, there you are. All ready for a day on the beach?"

"Yep! Look, it's even shaped like a castle!" Arthur held up the bucket.

"It's cheating if you use one of those." Martin commented.

"No it isn't. If you don't use a bucket, you don't get a proper castle, you just get a… mound."

"Not if you do it properly, Arthur, it just takes patience and a bit of craft-"

"Martin, he's building a sand castle, not reconstructing the palace of the Sun King." Douglas interrupted. "Can we please just go?"

"Why? What are you up to?"

Douglas sighed. "As I said, Martin, I know something that you don't. You see, this beach is a personal favourite of Caroline's ex-boyfriend's family, and-"

"Whose ex-boyfriend?" Arthur piped up, as Martin started to turn a slightly funny colour.

"Caroline's. My niece, who Martin has been unsuccessfully chasing after for seven or eight months now, in a remarkable display of social clumsiness and romantic ineptitude."

Martin wanted to protest, but all that came out of his throat was a strange strangled noise, as if even his own body thought Douglas was right.

"Oh, I thought you said Caro_lyn_." Arthur didn't seem inclined to disagree either. "Like mum. It's a bit confusing, isn't it?"

"No it isn't." Martin snapped, in a bad temper now. "Caroline and Carolyn. They're completely different names."

"Well, not really." Arthur said. "Can't we give one of them a nickname or something? Like, if you both called mum 'mum', then I'd know-"

"No!"

"Caroline used to go by Carrie when she was a girl, we could use that." Douglas said, carelessly. "Anyway, to return to the purpose of this rapidly side-tracking conversation, Carrie's ex-fiancé's family have a holiday home out here, and a boat, and every year at about this time my brother and his wife and daughter all come to holiday here."

"Caroline- Carrie does?" Martin couldn't help stumbling on his words slightly. "B-but she's not here this year, surely? They broke up, didn't they?"

"Yes, they did." Douglas said, in the voice he reserved for situations when he wanted to sound like he was speaking to a small child. "Still, they remained the best of friends and so yes, Martin, Carrie is here. Even more remarkable, she seems to want to see you."

Martin felt the kind of sickness that comes on all in a rush when you know you should be happy about something but can't help panicking about it. For one thing, he was just in an old pair of shorts and a t-shirt that looked, in certain lights, slightly stained, not something he would have chosen to wear if he had known. And he hadn't had any time to prepare himself, to make sure he wouldn't say anything stupid, to think of his topics of conversation in advance; and how did he know if she was even still interested? He hadn't spoken to her for months, beyond one brief conversation back in June- and why was he assuming she had been interested in the first place? This could only end horribly. He should just go back to the hotel, before he made things infinitely worse. If she was still interested, why hadn't she kept in touch? Perhaps she had just been, like him, too busy- but not busy to keep in touch with her ex, apparently, with his beach house and his boat.

"W-what does her ex do, anyway?" He managed to ask.

"Who, Robert? Oh, he's not a bad lad, another pilot." Douglas answered. "I think he just came back from a tour of duty with the RAF." When Martin didn't reply, he looked over in alarm. "Oh, Martin, try not to hyperventilate."

"Douglas, I think Skip might be having a heart attack." Arthur added, helpfully.

"No, I'm fine Arthur, fine!" Martin said, but he wasn't fine. The ex was rich, and talented, and undoubtedly a better pilot than him, and worst of all, _here_. Martin suddenly became very aware that he himself wasn't, technically, a professional pilot because he didn't do it for a living, and nor was he Carrie's boyfriend, ex or otherwise. Robert was probably winning her back as they spoke, and he suddenly felt the urgent desire to go back to the hotel and lie down. "Actually… actually, I'm not feeling great!" He blurted. "I think I'll just head back…"

"Nonsense!" Douglas said, briskly, shoving him firmly in the back. "Martin, Caroline has no intention of going back to Robert, I assure you, no matter what her mother wants. Now, listen. A woman actually wants to spend time with you; an opportunity that comes along so rarely, you should know to make the most of it, and after months of watching you two skirting around one another I'm quite frankly fed up of it. And so, off we go." He forced him on.

"But…" Martin started.

"We all know you're inadequate, Martin, the point is not to show her that." Douglas said, exasperated. "Come along, faint heart never won fair lady."

"What does that even mean?! And I'm not inadequate!"

"Oh, really? Then prove it."

Martin was now hot and tired from the panic and his pride was hurt, and so he said hotly "Fine, I will!" and marched down to the beach without any further prompting.

Caroline- Carrie- was waiting for them, looking as sweet and charming as ever. She had grown her hair even longer since Martin had last seen her, and it suited her. Her figure had filled out a little too, but not in a bad way, her curves softer under her sun dress. Martin again became uncomfortably aware of his own need for a haircut and tried to flatten his hair down, but forgot all about it as she smiled at them, genuinely seeming pleased to see them. He found he was smiling back, a big goofy grin that he tried to make into a more demure smile that wouldn't make him look like an idiot, but it didn't work. His stomach was twisting in a way it hadn't since he was fifteen and had his first serious crush. After a brief hello, Douglas pointedly dragged Arthur away on a quest for better building sand and ice-cream, after a pointed look at Martin. The pressure was unbearable, and the conversation was halting as Martin stammered uselessly. He became more and more miserable as he realised how unengaging, how unattractive he was being. But amazingly, Caroline wasn't giving up. Awkward as she sounded at his increasingly monosyllabic responses, she persevered, gradually coaxing him into relaxing, and subtly reminding him about their first meeting in the Louvre, and somehow, thinking about how easy he had been then calmed Martin down again and made him easy now. The conversation began to flow, the time began to fly. Finally, she mentioned Robert, and he felt he could ask.

"So… Douglas said Robert was your ex?"

"Oh… yes, that's right." She looked away, looked down at the sand, and Martin immediately thought that he had said the wrong thing, but before he could collect his wits sufficiently to begin apologising and back pedalling, she was carrying on. "The families have been friends for years, I grew up with him. Unfortunately, it makes it a little hard to get away now." She sighed deeply, unhappily. "You must think I'm a freak, coming back to stay with my ex like this… I didn't want to, but my mother insisted, and Robert is a nice guy, I didn't want to offend him. But… um, I, I'm not interested in him like that!" This last part was said abruptly, awkwardly, with a blush. Martin immediately felt relieved, then suspicious.

"I know, but… but you must have been, once! And, and, he's rich and a _fighter _pilot and he has a _beach house _and-"

"Martin!" She interrupted, horrified. "You should know me better than that. Look, I… I know we've only really talked on the phone, but… you're kind, Martin, and you're cute and you work hard at things. I think that's better than a beach house and a boat." She smiled nervously, and Martin felt her fingers tentatively creep over his in the sand. Had she put her hand there by accident? He didn't think so, in which case he should turn his and hold hers properly, but what if it was a mistake? He couldn't just grab her. He looked at her face, and as she went to move her hand away, he thought he saw the tiniest bit of disappointment; he had messed it up again. He managed to grab her hand just before she took it away again, and she smiled; even though all he could think was _My hand must be sweating so badly_. He hoped the sand on their palms would absorb some of it and tried to calm down. After all, this was a good position to be in.

"We should try to get together more often." She murmured. "What time do you leave tomorrow?"

"I don't know yet, not until the evening, probably." Martin answered, the thing he wanted most in the word right then being to spend the following day with her, for something to work out for him, just this once.

"Maybe you could come up to the house." She seemed cheered by the prospect. "We're supposed to be going out on the boat for a bit. I'd enjoy it a lot more if you were there."

"Yes! Yes, I'd love to!" Martin realised his enthusiasm might have been a bit over the top, but Caroline just laughed, not offended or creeped out at all. His stomach twisted painfully. He really liked this girl, and she seemed to like him. It seemed almost impossible, more like something that would happen to Douglas than to him.

Then again, she was inviting him out to her ex-boyfriend's boat, and said ex-boyfriend would be present, so maybe it was his life after all. His enthusiasm ebbed slightly.

"Won't Robert mind?" He asked. Caroline shrugged.

"We parted as friends. It was just…" She hesitated, looking for the words. "I think we only went out because everyone expected us to, that was definitely the only reason I said yes to marrying him. It was just… you know sometimes when everything seems so rigidly planned out you just want to scream?" She smiled lopsidedly at him.

"Yes, yes." Martin agreed; then added "No, not really. I would love it if things went to plan for me sometimes."

Caroline laughed again. "That's what I like most about you, Martin. You always know what you want to do, and you go for it, no matter what anyone says." This, Martin felt was in reference to a phone conversation they'd had not long after her grandfather's funeral, when he had finally confessed how long it had taken it to become a pilot. To his amazement, she had been _impressed_, seeing his ridiculous perseverance as a good thing. Martin had glowed then and he did now, just thinking about it. Carrie's next comment, however, caught him totally off guard. "So… what do you want now, Martin?"

She was flirting, flirting so obviously even Martin couldn't miss it, even though she was flirting with him and that didn't happen very often. Now he had to flirt back. That never ended well. He could barely conduct a conversation, let alone a flirtatious one. He couldn't produce smooth lines out of mid air like Douglas could. But she was waiting. He had to try.

"I…. I'd like to come out to the boat with you tomorrow." He said, sheepishly.

"Okay." She said, happily. "Then I'll meet you here at ten, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good." She let out a deep breath, and Martin realised, with a peculiar throb in his chest, that she had been nervous about asking him. "But, um, I'd… I'd better go. Dinner will be ready, they'll be waiting for me…"

They said goodbye and Martin didn't make too much of a fool of himself, and for a few moments all he could do was lie back in the sand and grin like an idiot, trying to put everything together in his head. He had a _date_. At last. Maybe this was going to work, maybe they could work something out. Somehow, at that moment, he could fool himself into thinking all their scheduling problems would disappear along with all his money problems, and this might actually work. He made his way back to the hotel, feeling feverish and giddy with excitement, collapsing onto his bed in a happy heap. He hadn't felt this light-headed in years, his stomach was churning- perhaps, just perhaps, this was love.

It wasn't love. Or at least, not just love; it was also a good deal of sunstroke too. When his alarm went off the following morning, it hurt to move. His head was spinning and his stomach was churning, and everything hurt. He realised he was sunburt, sunburnt extremely badly; he had been so distracted talking to Carrie that the discomfort had seemed minimal, and he hadn't wanted to be the uncool tourist constantly rubbing cream on. He wished he had now, or that he had drunk more in the hours they had spent together, however much time had flown. Even if he had been wearing a hat, that would have been something; perhaps then he wouldn't have been left feeling like all he wanted to do was curl up in a cool, dark place. But he _had _to get up. He had to go and see Caroline. He dragged himself out of bed, wincing as his sunburn brushed against the sheets. Changing his clothes was agonising and he had to sit down for a rest afterwards, trying to stop his head from spinning. He needed a drink, that much was obvious. He managed to struggle downstairs to breakfast, where Douglas greeted him with his custom tact.

"Martin! You look like a boiled lobster."

"Shut up, Douglas." Martin said, faintly. Faintly was the right word; going down the stairs had left him feeling about ready to faint. The room was spinning.

"Don't worry, red is Caroline's favourite colour. I hear you're off to a boat party today, aren't you, Captain?" Martin didn't answer. He couldn't.

"Skip? Are you alright?" Arthur asked, worried. Martin answered this, to his own horror and shame, by suddenly throwing up right there and then. Why hadn't he thought about how badly the sun affected him? He wanted to scream, but worried about what the result would be.

"Well." Douglas said, finally. "I see you're ready to win the ladies over with your usual suave sophistication."

Martin apologised to the staff and went back to bed, curling up miserably with a glass of water in the dark. He was too ashamed to call Caroline himself and made Douglas do it, terrified that she would think he was just making an excuse. Happily, though, his phone soon buzzed:

_Heard you were ill :( Sorry for keeping you so long on the beach :( We have the worst luck! Get lots of water and sleep and feel better soon! Carrie x_

It was hard to say which improved Martin's mood more, the kiss at the end or the reference to 'we', as if there was a 'we', a single unit. He slept much easier after that, and when Arthur came to wake him up to fly home, the room had stopped spinning.


	4. Halloween Party

Chapter Four- Halloween Party

"But are you _sure-"_

"Caitlin, I'm fine." Martin said, impatiently. It was Christmas Eve and he had just gotten back from his last van job. The mulled wine and chocolate orange he had bought himself as a Christmas treat were sitting on the table, looking tempting, as he tried yet again to allay his older sister's fears.

"But you'll be on your own, at Christmas. I really think you should come-"

"Caitlin, I _want _to be on my own!" He said, a little more impatient than was necessary. "Really, I'll be fine. I just need a break. I don't think the van would make the journey anyway."

"But… it just seems so sad. Are you sure you won't be lonely? If you won't come here, are you sure you can't go to Douglas' or something?"

"He's going to his daughters. Anyway, I wouldn't want to spend Christmas there, it would just be weird."

"Alright, well, what about going to Arthur's?"

"No!" Martin wondered what was so hard to understand. "I'm fine, Caitlin, really. I _want _to spend it alone."

A hesitation. She was obviously still in two minds. "Are you sure?"

"Completely, Caitlin, honestly. I'll phone you tomorrow, okay?"

"Alright. But if you change your mind, you can always-!"

"I know." Martin smiled. "But I'll be fine, really. It'll be nice just to relax for a change."

"Okay, Martin. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas." He hung up, relieved to finally be allowed to go, and poured some of the wine into a mug to heat it in the microwave, humming a half remembered carol to himself. It pinged a moment later and he took it, along with the chocolate, into the lounge to see what was on television, settling out onto the settee with a satisfied sigh. It was so rare he got to do this; when it was term time and the students were in occupation, he never came in here at all. It was much warmer than the attic, and Martin felt sure this would be a very happy Christmas.

Still, it did seem a little empty without them, and it was hard to feel truly in the festive spirit on your own. Not that he _needed _to feel festive. No, all he really needed was some time to himself, to well and truly relax. He settled down into the sofa, determined to enjoy it.

Ooooooooooooooooooooooo

_31__st__ October_

Martin had not been keen on the idea of an airfield Halloween party, not keen at all. It would just be a lot of people he either didn't know or didn't like or who didn't like him, standing around in the dark listening to music that he either didn't know or didn't like which probably didn't like him, wearing stupid costumes which he knew would end up resulting in him being somehow humiliated, probably by Douglas. Unfortunately, Arthur did not know how to take no for an answer.

"But Skip, you didn't come last year!" He had whined continuously, but it was Douglas who had finally convinced Martin to go, casually dropping into conversation one day that he happened to know that Caroline _loved _fancy dress parties. Once again, conflicting schedules had meant that Martin had not seen her in person since the disastrous events of the summer, when he had missed the party and worse, when she came down to see them off at the airfield, managed to throw up right in front of her (into a bin, thankfully) because seeing her had made him all nervous and nauseous again. And so it came to be that Martin was stuck, outside his house, in the dark and the rain, dressed in full uniform (he wasn't very imaginative at costumes) with the bonnet up on his van, poking around with a torch, and all the while keeping up a continuous monologue directed at the vehicle that was angry or pleading by turn.

"Please start. Just get me there, please. We were supposed to be there half an hour ago! I even cleaned you out and washed you specially! What more do you want from me?!" The van, needless to say, made no reply. Martin got into the cab and put the key into the ignition. "Alright." He said, trying to calm down. "This time, alright?" He turned the key, resulting in an unhappy sounding whine which spluttered out almost immediately. "For goodness sake! You're ruining my life, do you know that?! You are actually ruining my life." He tried the key again, twisting it angrily, with no result. "Alright, fine! Fine, be like that! But you _will _start!" With that he climbed back out into the rain. His mobile phone was left on the passenger seat in the dry, but over the rain and with his head in the engine, he didn't hear it ringing. Naturally, when he had begun panicking about his van and how late he was, he had completely forgotten that he hadn't called Caroline, because it was Martin, and in spite of his best efforts, nothing ever went smoothly.

Caroline, for her part, had been waiting outside the house, in the relative shelter of the porch that overhung their front steps. It wasn't that she was ashamed of Martin, just that she knew how easily flustered he got, and if he rang the bell and overheard one of her parents making a snobbish remark about his van, which they surely would, it could easily ruin the tone of the whole evening; and she really wanted it to be fun. Phone calls were nice, and she felt she could talk more easily to Martin than anyone else in the world, but they were no substitute for actually doing things; and it had made her incredibly happy when he had nervously asked her to go to the party with him. She was surprised he liked that sort of thing- she herself always felt slightly self-conscious, as she did now, standing outside dressed as a fairy- but her uncle had assured her there was nothing Martin liked better in the world. Unfortunately, Martin didn't show up. She waited over an hour, called him three times, and he never even picked up. It was safe to say she had been stood up. She hadn't thought Martin was like that, but after the second attempt at ringing him the phone hadn't even rung; he must have switched it off. She slipped quietly, dejectedly back inside, making sure her parents didn't notice. She had said goodbye to them an hour ago, and didn't want them to know what had happened.

A few moments later Martin stumbled out of a taxi, almost an hour and a half late. He hadn't realised how much time he had spent faffing with the van, and then his phone had been dead, and he didn't have her number stored anywhere else. Then he had borrowed a phone from one of the students, who wished him luck, and had to wait an age for a taxi. Having finally arrived and in the world's biggest fluster, he ran up the steps and rang the bell. It was opened by a woman who looked a lot like Carrie but who wasn't Carrie at all, who told him she had gone out ages ago, to a party with some school friends, and Martin went back to the taxi, completely mortified. He tortured himself wondering whether she had only gone out with her school friends when he hadn't shown up, or if she had been planning to stand him up all along. It didn't even occur to him that Caroline, at the age of twenty-six, still lied to her parents about where she was going in order to preserve her privacy. Nor did it occur to Caroline, sitting in the back of the house with her headphones in, to ask whether anyone had come asking for her. As far as she was concerned, Martin had just simply never shown up.


	5. Christmas Day

Chapter Five- Christmas Day

On Christmas morning, Martin woke up slowly, relishing it. It had been so long since he had woken up naturally, not to an alarm. The fact his breath was crystallising in front of him did not incline him to getting up; attics got rather cold. After a few minutes, he braced himself and ran downstairs, switching on the heating. The snow was a foot deep outside on the pavement; no wonder it was so cold. Arthur would be thrilled. Smiling at the thought, Martin went and sought refuge in a warm shower, fully intending to stay there until the house had enough time to warm up. He did so, finally heading downstairs again, cooking himself a nice bacon sandwich, playing a CD of carols. He was in a good mood and feeling rather festive, and after breakfast turned to his presents. He had a bottle of wine and some chocolates from the students, which was considerate of them, books from his brother and sister, an airfix model kit of a Red Arrows Hawk from an eccentric aunt who thought (correctly) that his tastes hadn't changed since the age of ten, and a dictionary from Arthur who, according to the note in the flyleaf, had thought it might help him win word games more often. He had also included a party blower, probably because he thought Christmas presents should be fun rather than practical. Chuckling, Martin blew it. The sound echoed rather forlornly around the house.

The house did seem rather empty. Which was perfect for relaxing in, but not really very Christmassy, even with carols still playing in the kitchen. Of course, it wasn't that he _needed _it to be Christmassy, he only wanted to relax, and he didn't need the festive spirit to do that.

It just seemed strange, that was all.

He glanced at the clock. It had just past ten thirty. He still had almost all of Christmas day before him. If he had been going to Caitlin's as usual, he probably would have just been arriving. He supposed he could call her and-

No. He wanted a day to himself to put his feet up, that was the whole point of this. He just had to forget it was supposed to be Christmas Day and veg out on the settee. Watch TV. Nap. Read. All the things he wanted to do but never had time for. He had new books, after all, something which only happened at Christmas, on his birthday, or when he had time to go to the library, which wasn't often. Or, he could start on his Airfix kit. His aunt sent him a new one every year and he always intended to just put it away in a cupboard somewhere, but then he always felt guilty and found himself working on it, even quite enjoying the precision and accuracy required for it. He had found that with a little patience and effort the models could be made to look exactly like the real thing. It was just a pity he couldn't show them to anyone without them laughing.

Suddenly he thought of Caroline, wistfully supposing that _she _wouldn't laugh; she never seemed to find him the slightest bit ridiculous, even though he was a failed pilot who had thrown up in front of her and drove a broken down van. He hadn't spoken to her since before Halloween, when she had ditched him. He had tried to call her the following day from his recharged phone and left a message, but she had never got back to him. Martin hadn't been able to bring himself to try again. Carrie may have liked his persistence, but if she wasn't even going to let him explain, he wasn't the sort of girl he thought she was.

The thought depressed him slightly and he sighed. The house really did seem rather empty and not at all Christmassy. He started reading, but couldn't settle to it, and took out the parts of the model plane, but got no further. The only thing that seemed to be on television was _Ready Steady Cook at Christmas_, which did not engage his attention in the slightest. He felt restless and uneasy, not relaxed at all; it was a feeling very similar to when he had been a young boy and had known the others were off playing elsewhere without him, it was the feeling of being left out. It didn't matter how much he told himself to grow up and that this was what he wanted anyway, he couldn't shake the feeling off. He had wanted to skip Christmas because he'd wanted to relax, but now he couldn't relax, because he was missing Christmas with nothing to take his mind off it.

He felt somewhat foolish.

Christmas lunch, he decided, was the way to go. He hadn't planned on cooking one just for himself, but it would fill some time, put him in the festive mood, and perhaps even be fun. Unfortunately, of course, he had absolutely nothing in of the Christmas-dinner variety bar the turkey breast and potato he had planned on cooking at some point during the day. He wondered whether any shops would be open and if they were, what sad people would be in it, whether it would just be forgetful people, or just people who wanted to hear another human voice on Christmas day.

Suddenly he felt more depressed than ever, but he had remembered where he had originally heard such cynicism. It was a man in his local corner shop, who always opened on Christmas day and swore he could make a killing off people who had forgotten things. Martin decided to go and find out the truth of this and pulled on his coat and boots for a rather miserable trudge through the snow that froze his feet and only seemed to emphasise the number of cars outside the other houses as people got together for Christmas.

The shop, to his surprise, was quite busy. He managed to get a carrot and a parsnip, and some sausage for the pigs, but when he reached into the fridge to get bacon for their blankets, his hand was met by another going for the last packet. Martin was not very confrontational, especially at Christmas, and withdrew his hand with a murmured apology, already thinking about stuffing and sprouts, when a familiar voice said "Merry Christmas, Martin."

He lifted his head so quickly he practically suffered whiplash. "Carrie! W-what are you doing here?!" Then he thought of something more pressing. "I'm so sorry about Halloween! My stupid, awful, terrible van broke down and by the time I'd got there, you'd gone."

"Really?" She frowned. "But… if that was all, why didn't you call?"

"I did! But my battery had died, so it wasn't until the next day, and you didn't pick up…"

"My phone never showed any missed-" Her slightly annoyed look was suddenly replaced with one of horror as she gasped audibly, covering her mouth with her hands. "Oh, Martin!" She cried, horrified.

"What?!" He asked, paranoid, looking around and checking himself up and down, expecting himself to be committing some grave social sin without knowing it.

"Oh, Martin." She said, squeezing his elbow and blushing badly. "It's my fault."

"W-what are you-?"

"I got a new phone. A new number. I was going to give it to you at the party."

"But you didn't."

"No, I didn't." She shook her head, mortified, then suddenly started to laugh a little hysterically, a little ashamed. "Oh, Martin, all this time I've been mad at you for not getting in touch. I'm so sorry."

Her laughter was infectious and Martin found himself laughing too. Her anger had evaporated and they were here, together, at Christmas. That was as good a reason as any to be happy. And it was so much like something that would have happened to him.

"I _did _try calling you though." She said, sternly. "The other day. You didn't pick up."

Martin suddenly remembered the unknown number, which, evidentially, was Carrie's. "Ah! Carrie, I'm so sorry, my phone was inside the settee!"

She looked at him in confusion, then giggled. "What?"

"Never mind!" He said, hastily. "I'm sorry I missed you. D-did you want anything, um, or, or need anything, particularly?"

"Oh, no! I was just saying hi…" She was twisting her scarf around in her fingers. Martin thought it was adorable and wondered if she was even conscious of it. "I'm surprised to see you here. I thought you'd be at your sister's."

"I am, usually, but, um, this year's been so busy I thought…"

"Yeah, this year's been pretty crazy." She agreed. "That's why I stayed behind. We usually go to my aunt's, but I just wanted to…"

"Catch your breath?"

"Right, right." She smiled. "But I forgot to get- oh! Here, sorry, you should have it!" She offered him the bacon.

"Oh, no, no, you go ahead!"

"I couldn't, you were here first!"

"I couldn't take it off you! U-unless…" Martin felt his mouth dry out with nerves. But he couldn't help thinking that this set up was just so perfect, it was a little like in the Louvre and finding out she lived in Fitton all over again. It was the feeling that maybe, just maybe, his luck was changing. She was alone, he was alone, and it was Christmas Day, with fresh snow just beginning to fall outside. If there was a time to believe in magic, just for a while, surely it was now.

"Unless?" She prompted. She looked hopeful.

"W-we could- I mean, only if you want to, you don't have to, but I'm my own and you're on your own and- ah! Not that I mean you're lonely or anything, you're probably quite happy to be on your own, I mean, if you wanted company I'm sure there are lots of people you could go to but-" He almost bit his tongue to make it stop.

_Deep breaths, Martin, and just ask her_.

"Um, that is, if you aren't busy, maybe we c-could pool."

"Pool?"

"I mean, would you like to join me for Christmas dinner, Carrie?"

And the smile that blossomed on her face seemed to prove that maybe Christmas magic was a thing after all.

Carrie didn't just stop while they cooked and ate lunch together, she stopped the entire day; playing silly games, making the Airfix kit and snuggling up in front of the television; and when the time came for Martin to walk her home because his van would never make it through the snow, he found he didn't mind his cold feet one bit because his hand was kept warm by her holding it, pretending to need help on the ice; and when they got to her door and stood on the steps and talked for ages, he thought he couldn't be happier. As it turned out, he was wrong, as just as she was scurrying inside, she kissed him on the cheek and disappeared inside, blushing.

Martin couldn't move from the steps for a while, and when he did, it felt like he was walking in the air. Suddenly the past year seemed like it had been a rather good one, and the one approaching seemed like it was going to be even better. It had been, rather undoubtedly, without qualification or reservation, the best Christmas ever.

Half way home his phone buzzed, with a text from Caroline.

_Here's my new number! Thanks for a great day and Merry Christmas! Are you free tomorrow? Carrie xx_

Definitely the best Christmas ever.

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

A/N: The end :) Merry Christmas everyone!


End file.
